Evanescent Days: Taking Over Me
by Daemonchan
Summary: Sequel to Everybody's Fool. The Yatonokami returns to the Makai to raise a demon army...to crush the Meifu once and for all.
1. 2:01

Evanescent Days: Track 02

Taking Over Me v.1.5

Yami No Matsuei Alterverse

by Daemonchan

Related Tracks: 01

:warning: SPOILERS! AU - 3 years following Kyoto. Immediately following Everybody's Fool. Manga and anime based. Translations from theria(dot)net.

:author's note: What I know of the Makai I've made up from bits and pieces of anime, namely Yu Yu Hakusho and YnM. Hell and Makai are two VERY distinct places. And it gets worse from here on in... Oh, and I'm REALLY making this up as I go along...

:disclaimer: nothing in this fic but the storyline is mine. Lyrics borrowed from Evanescence and characters from Matsushita-sensei.

akai tsuki-red moon

:thanks:

_:lyrics:_

_-Yatonokami-_

_Impressions and telepathic thought_

- - - - -

"Did you retrieve it?"

"Hai. But it is weak and fading fast."

A thoughtful pause. "Put it with his candle. He can sustain two flames for a time."

"Not long though." Worry tinged the voice. "It will weaken him...there may be other..."

A deep sigh whispered across the gentle flames. One candle flickered fitfully before it was moved into the vicinity of another, brighter flame. The two tipped together and the weaker candle flared again.

"His soul has been saved."

"Thank you, Hakushaku. His part in this must be preserved. For sake of the Chijou, Meifu, and the Makai."

The Earl nodded gently, invisible eyes trained on the two candles before him. "For Tsuzuki and Hisoka."

- - - - -

_:but who can decide what they dream?  
and dream i do...:_

_It was dark, wherever he was. Dark and almost cold. He felt the rough scratch of a cheap blanket across his shoulders...bare shoulders, and the thin cotton of pants. His feet were uncovered and the tile of the floor was ice beneath his toes._

_He knew he was in the room without windows, with the surety one has only in dreams. He was put in here from time to time, when the moonlight was too much to bear. His handlers still bore the scars of his scratching and biting that last time the full moon had come into the rectangle of his window. His sickness hadn't eaten away at his primal terror of_

_white...it was all white...no..._

_The moon...akai tsuki..._

_Is this me?_

_He sat huddled in his meager protection, knowing there was only so much fight left...already his heart and soul were being eaten away..._

"Kami-sama, no!" Tsuzuki screamed into the emptiness of his bedroom. His hand pressed tightly to his chest as if to keep his heart from beating itself through his ribs. He spared a glance for the clock, groaning as it mocked him with an hour that was well before dawn and only about an hour after he'd finally succumbed to sleep.

He also knew he wouldn't be going _back_ to sleep either.

Insomnia had been haunting since returning to Meifu...without rescuing his partner's body. For all any one knew, Hisoka's soul had been snuffed out, found neither in Heaven nor Hell. Tsuzuki still held out hope, refusing to give up on Hisoka. He had even tried to pry information from Hakushaku, only wanting to know if the young shinigami's flame had gone out. The Earl had rebuffed his advances, finally setting Watson at the door to keep him away.

Hisoka's body was now somewhere in Japan, possessed by the centuries old spirit that had haunted the Kurosaki family, the Yatonokami. So far, no one in the Shokan had been able to track it; it was able to mask its demonic aura. They could only wait until it tried to use its powers...and then pray they weren't too late.

Tatsumi had ordered Tsuzuki out of the Division for at least a day, quite possibly to save the others from nightmares about the shell the amethyst eyed shinigami had become. He barely ate, or drank, even with Wakaba creating hundreds of different tempting snacks. Pale and gaunt, he sat at his desk, just staring at the seat that used to be occupied by his partner.

_Kami...I miss you..._

Yes, he missed the acerbic comments about his work ethic, his whining, the addiction to sweets. Tsuzuki would have given every candy in his drawer to hear just one 'shut up baka' in the other shinigami's timeless teenaged tenor.

Nothing for it then. Better just get up. Make some tea to curb the pangs in his stomach...he certainly didn't feel like making food. He pulled himself from bed with an effort, not even pausing for the dizziness to fade. His work clothes had become his bed clothes, and these ones had seen the office three days in a row. Watari had commented about his being a little ripe and something about his clothes being able to take themselves to work and probably do his job too.

Oh, yeah, he'd been banished to take a shower and change. Mustn't forget that.

He made his way towards the small kitchen, shedding his jacket and tie, managing to remove his shoes while he moved. He was hopping on one foot to take off a sock when he saw something in the corner of his eye.

He looked up, hoping to catch it again. He had a mirror in the hallway, and had flashed by it.

No, there was some...one else...

_:you saw me mourning my love for you  
and touched my hand:_

There, in the mirror.

It was Hisoka looking back out of the silvered glass, like a translucent image projected over Tsuzuki.

Tsuzuki felt himself cry then, releasing the horrible tension that had gathered in his stomach like lead. The half image continued to glare back him, familiar emerald eyes boring almost hatefully into Tsuzuki's own.

"Hisoka, I failed you...Please forgive me."

Touching the mirror, Hisoka copied the motion, and their hands met on the glass. An electric tingle traveled the length of Tsuzuki's arm, and he closed his eyes with the familiar warmth in his mind.

_You're out there, somewhere. Your soul is still there..._

Tearing himself from the mirror, Tsuzuki couldn't keep back a hysterical laugh. Everyone had assured him...there was no possible way for Hisoka's soul to have survived the terrible spell that took his body. There was no trace of him, on Chijou or Meifu.

He was falling then, sliding down the wall opposite the mirror that had somehow become shattered, cradling the hand that had become cut. The tears wouldn't stop then, and he pulled his knees to his chest, remaining so until Tatsumi found him the next morning, still crying Hisoka's name.


	2. 2:02

Evanescent Days: Track 02

Taking Over Me v.1

Yami No Matsuei Alterverse

by Daemonchan

Related Tracks: 01

::warning:: SPOILERS!! AU - 3 years following Kyoto. Immediately following Everybody's Fool. Manga and anime based. Translations from note:: I know that the candles go out after death, but I thought that maybe the Shinigami had another candle, lit after they accepted their assignment. Also, Hisoka gets a new name… And it gets worse from here on in... Oh, and I'm REALLY making this up as I go along...

::disclaimer:: nothing in this fic but the storyline is mine. Lyrics borrowed from Evanescence and characters from Matsushita-sensei.

::thanks:: jennamarie (you're welcome!), aoiyuki (;;, so nice of you!), melrose stormhaven (yet, you return for more), Hispanic Tenshi, Nefertari (Hisoka Doll!!), Primeval Eidolon Scar, WindyLea, Lady Mirror, Anendee, Chrono21(put the bat down…hides in fear of flames)

_::lyrics::_

_Impressions and telepathic thought_

- - - - -

_::i look in the mirror and see your face::_

The shattering glass broke the stillness of the cavernous room, crackling underfoot as the youth pulled himself through the jagged opening. Water lapped quietly at the tiled edges of a large pool, blue waters reflecting the too serious face of the intent intruder. Emerald eyes glanced about carefully, spying what he sought at the deepest end of the pool, door marked for a boy's locker room.

He landed with a grunt on the bleachers about 10 feet below the window. Something twisted in his leg, but he ignored it, limping down the stairs. He looked like someone who'd been living in the lowest gutters of the world, his clothes muddied with more than dirt, face smudged and caked. Half-heartedly picking at the disgusting material plastered to his body, the Yatonokami slammed through the swinging door, shedding grime stiffened cloth as he stumbled blindly for the gang shower ahead. Those he would have to take care of later, but for now…

It'd been weeks since possessing his new body, interminable days of hiding in alleys unfit for the infesting rats, and stealing what little he needed. You'd think a shinigami would be better prepared, with more than just a near empty wallet and a holster where a gun should be.

"Not prepared at all, were we, Hisoka-kun?" he chided to the echoing darkness as he searched for the lights. Harsh white light revealed all that he hoped for...showers with fresh towels folded neatly on the rack. There was also a supply of gym uniforms, but would be far too conspicuous to wear back on the street. He'd have to salvage his clothes somehow.

Thinking of going back out made his stomach growl in protest. The first test had come when he could no longer ignore the gnawing emptiness in his belly. A humiliating try at robbing a couple passing by...only to laughed at when nothing happened. His power sparked in fits, allowing minimal glamours so he could carefully relieve a passerby of a few yen. It was becoming easier to control the impulses left in the borrowed body, and soon it would be as if the Yatonokami had been born to this flesh.

He was unused to such harsh living conditions, having spent several generations in a very wealthy family. All the plans he had for the demon child Rui carried, to claim the Kurosaki fortune for his own. All blown to Hell by the unforeseen return of Nagare's first bastard of a son. Power and fortune...all come to one basic need in the world.

The demon God Yatonokami, scourge of Kamakura, was in desperate need of a shower.

So, here he was, naked in front of the mirror of the boy's locker room he had broken into, staring into a face. A face that was now his own.

The body was almost painfully thin, and locked in death so it could never be repaired. Hisoka had once had the potential to be a tall youth, but years of neglect had left its scars. He frowned at the blood red marks of the killing curse, at once peeved that someone had dared to touch _his_ chosen in such a manner and again admiring of the power and genius that had gone into the nature of the spell. He had studied the curse for a time before the boy was committed to the asylum and was shocked and awed that mere human hands had done it.

Maybe he would look up the caster now that he was free. He would be a powerful ally to have in his bid for revenge on the world.

But first things first. After centuries of deprivation, he intended to enjoy his new body.

Heavenly water cascaded down his muck-laden skin, swirling away in dark eddies to disappear into the drain. He couldn't have said how long he stood there, but his pruning skin was testament to the fact that it was time to move on. Naked and shivering, he paused again in front of the wall length mirror.

He stared into the bright emerald eyes of the demon child he had helped create and smiled wickedly. It had taken a frustrating while, but he'd finally discarded the annoying films in his eyes, leaving them on some unnamed street, though he kept the glasses. They helped soften the unnatural shock of his eyes. The strangely colored hair would take some getting used to. Perhaps he would let it grow out to the ancient fashion. In a country that still held to old traditions, he would not stand out in a crowd even then.

He knew that Hisoka would be considered beautiful by both male and female standards...even demons would find the androgyny tempting.

Speaking of demons... Contact between worlds was carefully monitored, occasional rifts repaired as quickly as they formed to prevent any mixing of Chijou, Meifu, Makai, or Hell. There were ways to reach Makai, if one didn't mind the blood and souls required to rip open the veil between worlds. The problem was, the shinigami would be immediately alerted, and strange deaths reported to the Division after it was discovered that no soul remained. Breaking through would take more resources than he had available.

Growling, he turned from the mirror, grabbing his clothes. He placed them on the tiled floor in the showers and turned the water as hot as possible. Enma would have his highest seekers out in force; hiding among the refuse of Japan would be the best course. He shuddered to think of returning purposely to the dark and the filth.

"I need to reach Makai. How do I get to Makai without the damned Shinigami finding me?"

His thoughts circled darkly as he rubbed the clothing on the tiles, all pointing to the conclusion that even though he had freed himself from the fleshy prison of the Kurosaki family, he was still screwed, as Hisoka's generation would put it. He needed to find a demon, or find someone who could summon one... a powerful dark onmyouji...

He paused, raising his arms to examine the skin. Red tracings marred his arms and torso, the marks of a sorcerer...a curse that was certainly demonic in origin. Excitedly, he searched what remained of Hisoka's thoughts and memories, finding the one that had been burned forever into his soul. A man...with strange eyes and silver hair. One word that caused the Yatonokami's heart to miss a beat with unfamiliar fear.

_Muraki._

- - - - -

It was well past midnight when the knocking started. Oriya sat up muzzily, reaching for his robe. The sound was disturbingly rhythmic, like the beat of a drum. Whoever it was, they'd better be prepared to meet the end of his katana for disturbing his night off. He dashed for the door, pausing long enough to put a cigarette to his lips, intending to light it as he scared off his unwanted visitor. He slid the door open, all previous intention forgotten as he realized who was knocking.

"_You_? What are you…" Oriya stopped, squinting at the filthy figure before him. The Shinigami was markedly changed since he'd challenged Oriya for his partner's life. The boy was dressed in the remains of leather jacket and a tee, with torn jeans and sneakers with loose soles. Oriya had always guessed he was about sixteen or so, skinny with triple colored hair that was beginning to show a fourth color at the roots. Rose-colored lenses perched on his nose, giving the appearance of intelligence beyond his years.

It was the eyes that gave the Oriya a sharp tremor. Hollow jade eyes that reflected nothing back, keeping everything trapped within the mysterious orbs. Those eyes had not left his face, even as he avoided the penetrating gaze.

"No, you're not who I thought…" Oriya mused, knowing that what lay behind those demon's eyes was truly a demon, not just the haunted boy who died with a chip on his shoulder. Something serious had gone down and the Shinigami had not come out on top. "What brings you to the KoKakuRou, uh…"

The boy smiled, cold and hollow, never dropping his eyes. "Call me Mitsu for now." He offered a hand, a pale roll of paper tied with an ornate ribbon...like something out of history. "I was hoping you would do the honor of delivering this to Muraki Kazutaka. I believe he is an acquaintance of yours."

Oriya kept himself from snorting. Whatever had taken over the kid may look like death warmed over, but it still had power enough to kill him on a whim. "I haven't seen him in a long while, since the college burned down. He could be dead for all I know. Are you sure you want to trust me with this message?"

Mitsu never wavered, same sick smile plastered on his pale face. "Oh, Mibu-san, he will come if he is able. He won't be able to help himself. Tell him to please accept my gift. Onegaishimasu."

Oriya grabbed the paper, slipping it into his sleeve. Turning quickly, he left the boy standing at his door and shut it with a resounding crack. His legs collapsed beneath him and he found himself fighting hysterical giggles. He'd met his death and was still able to panic about it.

He found he had crushed the note in his palm. Oriya stared at it, with its ribbon like blood. The summons from the Shinigami made demon. For a man who could be dead but probably wasn't. With an angry growl, he stubbed out his cigarette on the polished floor. "Shit. Muraki, how do I get into these things?"

- - - - -

Kanoe sat before the great Doors, hands on his knees, studying the skin of his hands. Waiting was what he excelled at, more so than his protégé Tatsumi. He gave assignments, waited for word, waited for progress, recoveries, and mental breakdowns… In all his years as Shokan chief, he'd never had so many accidents…and certainly no pandemic destruction liked he'd experienced in the 70 plus years Tsuzuki Asato had been assigned. Still, recent events went far beyond what Tsuzuki was previously capable of: namely, his possession by one of Hell's officers, the complete destruction of the library, his getting trapped in the Count's fantasy worlds, his aborted suicide in Kyoto, and last, his devastating loss of Kurosaki in Kamakura, during an assignment that was highly unorthodox. Any similar actions would have been severely punished if not handed down by Enma-dai-oh himself.

"He will see you now, Kanoe-san," a voice whispered from the Door, from a cherubic face still in the flux of images in the molten surface. Kanoe nodded and stood, walking into the further darkness as the Doors opened silently.

An old man materialized from the black, dressed in an ancient kimono of gold silk. His hair and beard were white, styled much like a Chinese Imperial. His geta made no sound as they approached the waiting man. "Kanoe, old friend." Enma's voice was always soft, almost as if he had to whisper to speak with his lower beings. Kanoe was quite sure it would be dangerous to hear the god's true voice. "Tsuzuki is well?"

_Cutting to the chase…_ "Hai, Tsuzuki is recovering, at the least. Hakushaku assures me that his flame still burns brightly." Still, he couldn't quite ask what was burning in everyone's mind since Kamakura. "His breakdown…"

Enma sighed, looking more like a tired grandfather than a god of the afterlife. "Serves its own purpose. There are many paths, so many choices, but there is one future that must be prevented above all. A future that has been in the making for nearly a century. The players are gathered…the time is very close." Enma smiled then, a gently radiant gesture that made Kanoe think suddenly of happier times. There was a rustle as a sheaf of paper materialized in his long fingered hands. The fleeting gladness brought by his smile dissolved as his face fell into a serious frown.

"It seems that a strange death has occurred in Chijou. One that appears to be the work of an old nemesis."

Kanoe scanned the papers, feeling the familiar leaden feeling in his gut. A ritualistic murder, body desecrated with demonic runes and sigils. Soul lost forever in the black magic.

"Muraki." Did the mad doctor know? Did he know that Tsuzuki was shattered, Hisoka now a demon god? Or was it just a sad coincidence that he decided to begin his latest mad quest at a juncture when no one in the Division was truly prepared to deal with it?

He could do nothing but bow and accept the assignment. Still, after all this, after everything, he had to know, to understand why these things were happening to such people: soul-tortured Tsuzuki and broken Hisoka. "Will they survive?"

The god chuckled, an infinitely sad sound in the darkness, gesturing with one hand. "Even I am subject to Time, Kanoe, subject to Fate and her strings. I cannot tell you." He began to fade then, and Kanoe suddenly found himself before the Doors once again, staring into the molten façade with a burdened gaze.

"Believe in them," came a last whisper as the Doors closed. "Faith has been known to do great things…as they may…"

- - - - -

::_so many things inside that are just like you are taking over_::

It would be an insult to Hell to compare it to the Shinigami currently occupying Kurosaki's chair at the conference table. Tsuzuki was clean only at Tatsumi's fanatical insistence, and present so that the Division could keep on eye on him. He'd been sleeping in the hospital wing, with Watari close at hand, since his breakdown. (The scientist had had a loud word for every sliver of glass he pulled from his friend's hands, often having to re-open the skin so he could retrieve trapped shards. Tsuzuki had kept his stoic gaze throughout it all, never making the slightest whimper.) Sleeping was relative of course, as eyes closed didn't really mean much.

He was holding on. For weeks, he was clinging to a life he couldn't get out of…caught in a deal his terrible heritage had bought for him. He had long since forgone a tie, and his shirt and pants were well worn.

The deepest, terrible truth was that he didn't dare try to take his own life again. Tsuzuki couldn't bare the thought of disappointing Hisoka, whether he was dead or not. Those tear filled emerald eyes as he was held tightly in the black flames…ready to die if that's what it took. How could he turn his back on that?

He was currently occupying space in the staff room, never quite getting to the cup of coffee he'd intended to get. Terazuma was studiously ignoring him in the background, uncomfortable with the idea of facing Tsuzuki and his pain. Sometime during his phase, Tatsumi had entered as well.

"Tsuzuki?" was Tatsumi's gentle question, a familiar hand on his to try and anchor him to the reality he didn't have the strength to leave behind or the courage to face.

Tsuzuki drew his hand back sharply, startled by the chaos that had attacked his mind just by Tatsumi's brushing hand.

_concern…pity…God, Tsuzuki, will you survive…_

A flood of panic filled him, and he shot back, empty coffee mug shattering on the floor. "Tatsumi…" he whispered, even as his mental instincts kicked in, drawing up his shields higher and tighter than ever before. Still, trickles ran through the cracks, alien thoughts and emotions Tsuzuki was sure weren't his.

_Not mine. Not my power. Hisoka's. _

"His face. His power. His voice!" Tsuzuki gestured wildly, arms sweeping wide. "Tatsumi! Hisoka! I felt you. It's him! Kami-sama, it's him!" He broke down into mad laughter, sobbing and hiccoughing. Tatsumi made a grab for his shoulders, suddenly sure that he had finally crossed into insanity.

"Terazuma! Get Watari!" Tatsumi barked, his tone making the former detective jump and run without asking why.

"It's him, it's him!"

Tatsumi pulled Tsuzuki to his chest, though he could never recall if it was for comfort or to muffled the shouts for Hisoka. Watari found them minutes later, a syringe in one hand, which he quickly unloaded into Tsuzuki's arm. He pulled the now unconscious Shinigami from Tatsumi's iron grasp, meeting the secretary's burdened gaze. Watari found his voice before Tatsumi, putting the strange episode into words.

"What the hell was that?"


End file.
